


Repentance

by DefyingNormalcy



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, post episode 4x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7958824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefyingNormalcy/pseuds/DefyingNormalcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scene that I wish we had seen in 4x04. TW for discussions of the sexual assault that was depicted in 4x03 and 4x04. </p><p>“Long, elegant fingers came up to twirl the thick greying hair bound by the simple ponytail; Vera noted that the silver strands were starting to overpower the rich black of Joan’s hair. Something heavy and uncomfortable settled over her chest. The memory of watching Joan pull her once-darker locks from her strict bun the very first night they’d debriefed in the former governor’s office tugged at Vera’s thudding heart.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repentance

**Author's Note:**

> Many heartfelt thanks to Ifitbelove for her insight and edits. The quote within the text is from Virginia Woolf's beautiful novel To The Lighthouse, which is a novel that I think would really speak to Joan.

xxx

 

The fine hairs on the back of Joan’s elongated neck tingled deliciously, despite the dull, throbbing ache that continued to wash over her body in turbulent waves. The obnoxiously blonde nurse in Medical had given her a few painkillers to dull the pain, but they did little more than take the edge off.

 

Her little mouse was standing in the doorway of her pathetic cell, clenching her jaw and standing as tall as her petite frame would allow.

 

With deliberate slowness, Joan closed her copy of _To The Lighthouse_ and regarded the woman in front of her. She was wearing a different perfume. Gone was the subtle floral bouquet that barely announced her presence and in its place was something distinctly richer, darker.  It was stronger, bolder, and it made Joan’s mouth water as she imagined the dainty woman applying it carefully between the subtle swell of her breasts and the insides of her boney wrists.

 

“I understand that you turned down breakfast this morning,” Vera said calmly.

 

Joan clenched her jaw tightly as she shifted on her bed to regard Vera properly. She knew that Vera was watching her every move and she refused to give her the satisfaction of showing Vera just how much physical pain she was in.

 

“I wasn’t hungry,” she replied, sounding slightly bored. “Don’t you have a _prison_ to run Vera? Surely you have more important things to do than wait around for the perfect opportunity to corner me alone in my cell.”

 

Vera was amazed at the level of condescension in her tone; even sitting here in the frumpy teal tracksuit, the woman before her radiated power and confidence. It was infuriating. Maddening.

 

And yet Vera craved it like she’d craved nothing else in her life before.

 

Joan’s signature arrogance could fool her into forgetting that for all her imposing height, for all her impenetrable iciness, for all her physical strength, she was also a woman who had been rendered vulnerable in the most unforgivable of ways.

 

Joan was always in control. _Always_ , painstakingly in control. Impervious. Unpierceable. Unwavering. Intelligent. Dangerously intelligent. Her qualities justified her arrogance. Vera bit the inside of her cheek to stop the swell of conflicting emotions rising through her; where was Joan’s arrogance yesterday? Where was that impenetrable shield when Joan had needed it most? Why hadn’t it protected her marble-like skin from the vicious, blackening bruises which Vera knew covered the majority of her towering frame?

 

Slowly, Vera released the injured flesh of the inside of her cheek.   

 

“Joan,” Vera’s hands unfurled to clench her hips, “Proctor and the others aren’t here right now. It’s just you and I. Talk to me.”

 

Long, elegant fingers came up to twirl the thick greying hair bound by the simple ponytail; Vera noted that the silver strands were starting to overpower the rich black of Joan’s hair. Something heavy and uncomfortable settled over her chest. The memory of watching Joan pull her once-darker locks from her strict bun the very first night they’d debriefed in the former governor’s office tugged at Vera’s thudding heart.

 

“I am. Talking to you that is,” Joan drawled. Her cool, dark eyes travelled the short distance from Vera’s boots , up her torso, to rest momentarily on the gold crowns adorning her shoulders before settling on her eyes.

 

Vera let out a sigh. Of course Joan wasn’t going to make this easy or simple. She doubted very much that there was any part of Joan that could be described as either easy or simple. At the back of her mind, a nagging voice asked her what Joan, her former mentor, current inmate, would do if she was trying to extract information from her.

 

The irony of their reversed roles in this situation was not lost on Vera.

 

“May I sit?” Vera gestured to the narrow cot which Joan was currently occupying.

 

A single, perfectly shaped eyebrow arched. “If you must.” she replied tensely. Though she shifted so that she was sitting near the head of her bed, leaving the bottom half empty for Vera’s tiny body.

 

Vera lowered herself onto the cot, wincing slightly as her gentle weight caused the bed to squeak loudly.

 

“So. Do this often do you?” Joan’s rich voice broke the silence between them. “Visit prisoners in their cell? Ask to share a bed with them?” Joan elaborated at Vera’s frown.

 

Vera’s eyes widened and she felt her cheeks heat.

 

Joan felt a tiny sense of victory at playing with her little mouse’s emotions. Vera’s heart always did stand out too proudly for Joan’s liking.

 

“No, just with you,” Vera said after taking a moment to recover. She was getting better at this. She’d learned well from her mentor.

 

Joan’s eyes crinkled amusedly. “Not bad Vera,” she said, then looked away to gaze at the empty wall across from them. Not bad at all; this tasted better than her previous sense of victory. Her sweet little mouse had sharpened her teeth.

 

Vera took advantage of the opportunity to be able to regard the woman in front of her. She noted that the bruises on her wrists had darkened since her strip search yesterday. Joan’s hands rested on the mattress on either side of her hips. Her rather...attractive hips, Vera noted to herself, not for the first time, and with considerable awkwardness.

 

Attractive hips which were covered in bruises. Bruised hips that had been forcefully held down and…

 

Vera shuddered at the thought and blinked furiously.

 

“You’re staring. Why? Why are you here Vera?”

 

Vera’s eyes snapped up to find Joan studying her.

 

“I’m trying to bring justice to the women who did this to you,” Vera said softly.

 

Joan chuckled dryly. “You really believe that by doing so, you can erase what was done to me, don’t you?” she asked in wonder. There was no belittlement in her voice, only pity. Her pretty little mouse and her sharpened teeth still hadn’t learned.

 

“N-no,” Vera stumbled. “ I don’t believe that. I would like it to be true, but... I know that it’s not,” Vera said sadly.

 

“I’m The Freak,” Joan said definitively, “I deserve what’s happened to me. They know it. I know it,” she paused, “It’s done Vera. Move on.” Joan’s shoulders slumped forward and she sighed. For the first time since Vera had known the formidable woman, Joan looked tired. Exhausted even.

 

Vera was incredulous. Joan Ferguson had spent the last 17 years carefully laying out a plan to exact her revenge on the man whom she blamed for the death of her lover. Joan Ferguson had nearly burnt down the entire prison to see her plans through. Joan Ferguson was currently sitting in the prison she once ran because of the long list of crimes she’d committed in her quest for revenge. The very same Joan Ferguson was asking Vera to move on, to give up her own quest for revenge against the women who had so ruthlessly violated Vera’s…

 

Former boss. Former mentor. Former confidant.

 

Former...friend.

 

Something...someone.. _more_. Something words, labels either didn’t quite do justice or tauntingly exaggerated.

 

Vera shook her head firmly. “No you don’t. You don’t deserve...you don’t deserve _that,_ no one does.” Vera’s hand instinctively reached out and covered Joan’s larger one.

 

Both women held their breath. Joan dragged her eyes from the wall and forced herself to look at their mingled flesh. Joan’s hand twitched slightly under Vera’s hand. It had been so long, so very long since she’d last felt this tiny hand on her skin.

 

_I do - I do care!_

 

Their disastrous dinner felt like lifetimes ago. Joan’s fumbling attempt to tell Vera how she felt had hardened her in a way she didn’t think was possible after her 52 years on this earth.

 

Vera’s thumb gently stroked Joan’s knuckles. Joan’s chest tightened. It was easy to ignore the physical ache deep in every corner of her body with Vera’s hand on her. It was easy to ignore all the hurt and all the pain that they had thrown at each other. It was easy to ignore the keen sting of betrayal that hadn’t quite left Joan’s mouth whenever she spoke the other woman’s name. It was easy to forget everything but the softness of Vera’s skin on hers. The warmth of Vera’s diminutive body next to hers. The ill-fated, magnetic pull that Joan had long ago conceded existed between them.  

 

“You don’t deserve it,” Vera repeated, “And I will come and visit you here every day to repeat that if I need to.”

 

Joan recalled her father’s teachings.

 

_Never feel sorry for your opponent if you leave them bleeding, defeated, and humiliated. They deserve it. Your victory is yours to own. Their weakness is yours to exploit._

 

Hadn’t she allowed herself to underestimate her opponents? Hadn’t she grossly misjudged the forces at play around her? Hadn’t that been what resulted in her...defeat?

 

Hesitantly, Vera’s fingers curled around the back of Joan’s hand. “You’ve done terrible things Joan. You really have, and many of them are unforgivable. I want you to to answer for those crimes in a civilized way. But I don’t want terrible things done to _you._ You don’t deserve cruelty.”

 

 _You deserve kindness. You deserve clarity. You deserve love._ Vera dared not speak these words. She locked them in the iron cage of her chest and willed them to cease their incessant racket.  

 

“Oh Vera, but you forget how well I know you.” Joan sighed and shook her head. “You do want terrible things done to me,” Joan said knowingly. “A part of you wishes that you had the strength and courage to strangle me yourself. Or maybe you’d overdose me like you did your mother. Maybe you’d push me down some stairs. I’m not exactly in any sort of physical shape to be able to fight you. You’d probably get away with it too,” Joan added thoughtfully.

 

Joan looked up from their hands and smirked at the look of incredulity on Vera’s face.

 

“A part of me does want that, yes,” Vera admitted uncomfortably.

 

Joan nodded. She understood. When Vera had walked out of her house all those months ago, she had wanted to drag the smaller woman back into her kitchen by the hair to throttle her. To snap her tiny bones.

 

To pummel her.

 

To mark her. To bite into her deliciously full lower lip. To sink her teeth into the flesh above her wildly fluttering pulse. _Mine._

 

To rip the clothing from her lithe body. To pin Vera’s naked, squirming limbs against the sheets of her bed. To know every soft, firm curve of the younger woman beneath her. To bend her head in prayer at the altar between Vera’s legs.

 

To devour her.

 

“And the other part?” Joan pressed.

 

Joan turned her hand over in Vera’s grasp and felt her heart constrict painfully as the smaller woman laced their fingers together.

 

Vera looked at her sadly. She opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it and shook her head. She extracted her fingers from Joan’s grasp and with a sigh, stood once again.

 

Joan’s hand trembled slightly at the loss of contact and she felt the ache come crashing back into her. It returned not as an ache, but as a thousand piercing blades. “You should get going Governor, it wouldn’t look very good if you were caught here. With me,” Joan said firmly.

 

Vera regarded Joan from the doorway of her cell. “I’m sorry Joan, I’m so sorry.”

 

Joan refused to look at the younger woman in the eyes. “So am I Vera.”

 

“Right, well, if you happen to recall any further details about your...fall, please do not hesitate to ask for me. I will make myself available to you at any time, should you wish to discuss this further,” Vera said as she slid back into her role as governor.

 

Joan said nothing. Her back stiffened and she reached for her discarded book. From memory, she located her page and paragraph she’d abandoned when Vera walked in.

 

_“To want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain...”_

 

Vera’s left foot stepped outside of the cell and she paused. Joan’s eyes were fixated on the novel in her hands. “You know…,” Vera started, “it’s possible to love and hate someone at the same time. I-it doesn’t make much sense I know. But I’ve stopped trying to make sense of it and I’ve just learned to accept it.”

 

She held her breath for agonizing moments. Joan’s eyes darted back and forth on the well-preserved pages in front of her, but they refused to meet Vera’s.

 

Vera’s heart let out a deflated _thump_ , and her right foot swung forward to carry her the rest of the way outside of the cell. She exited, leaving behind her only a faint trace of her perfume to linger in Joan’s narrow confines.

 

_“And then to want and not to have- to want and want- how that wrung the heart, and wrung it again and again!”_

  
  



End file.
